Shag Carpet
by MercGirlie
Summary: Marc muses about his relationship with Cliff after being forced to pick a t-shirt from his boyfriend's dubious collection of clothing. Marc/Cliff, so slash obviously. Don't read if you don't like it!


Author's Note: I am greatly sadden by the lack of Marc/Cliff stories out there in the Ugly Betty fanfic community

**Author's Note: I am greatly sadden by the lack of Marc/Cliff stories out there in the Ugly Betty fanfic community. C'mon, those two are adorable! Don't they deserve some fic love too?**

**I racked my brain trying to come up with some idea for a Marc/Cliff story (and anyone following my other stories know I'm not the best with keeping up stories and ideas), and finally found something after recalling Marc's "Who knew there were hardwood floors underneath that shag carpet," line from "A Nice Day for a Posh Wedding." I recalled that one of my aunts had the most hideous shag carpeting in her house well into the nineties. It looked awful, but it was one of the nicest things on which your bare feet could walk. Also, an ode to scruffyCliff! Who I prefer to cleaned up Cliff in a cute-in-a-Sean-Astin/Seth-Rogen-ish way. Enjoy!**

It was hard for Marc to think of a word to describe the feeling that flooded over him when he discovered his boyfriend's old ketchup stained and cat hair covered brown, corduroy blazer hanging in the bedroom closet.

Revulsion came close, with disappointment pulling in a strong second.

Marc had thought they were so past this. Hadn't he complimented Cliff when he cleaned up for Wilhelmina's wedding? Didn't Cliff notice all the waiters and bartenders that fawned over him when he showed up looking like an absolute ten? Oh sure, Mandy might have said he wasn't actually much hotter than before, but she didn't understand. Cliff had been gorgeous, whether or not she saw it.

So, naturally, Marc had assumed that the days of poorly trimmed facial hair and blazers that were so old the chord had begun to fade at the elbows were long gone.

But, here he was, standing in the doorway of Cliff's closet, eyeing the offending article of clothing with disgust.

It really made Marc question just what he was doing in the first place. A few months ago he would never have imagined that he would be searching for a garment good enough to sleep in through a collection of t-shirts that kept company with a ratty blazer.

Oh, dear God, why was he even considering sleeping in a t-shirt? Only people who couldn't afford designer underwear and fancy sleepwear slept in t-shirts. Betty Suarez probably slept in a t-shirt. Ew.

But he had had too many appletinis, and it was cold outside, and Wilhelmina had been keeping him so busy and he hadn't seen Cliff in ages…and he was making sure right now to make a mental note to never, ever forget to pack his pajamas when going to Cliff's.

But really, he thought, he shouldn't be forced to decide what t-shirt was good enough to serve as his sleepwear for the evening. Damn it, Cliff! Hadn't we gotten rid of the shag carpeting and been happy to find the hardwood flooring underneath?

Cliff made his way into the bedroom and asked,

"What are you doing in here?"

"I'm just trying to pick the shirt I hate the least," Marc quipped in reply.

Cliff rolled his eyes and walked to the closet. He stood behind his boyfriend, scanned the selection of shirts, and snatched one from its hanger.

"This one won't be as big on you as some of the others."

Marc read the t-shirt's slogan ("Rhode Island: Size Ain't Everything") and looked as if he were about to be sick. Cliff just smirked in return.

"It's just a t-shirt," he chuckled.

That's easy for him to say, thought Marc. Cliff had only just begun to take a swim in the three-piece suit and cashmere sweater pool. He had no idea what he was missing. Marc took a moment to pity poor Cliff before steadying himself, unbuttoning his sweater, and sliding the t-shirt over his head. The material was soft and smelt clean and plesant, but the shirt was obviously well worn, sporting several holes at the seams. Worse still, it was obviously too large for Marc, draping around his thin frame.

He regarded himself sadly in Cliff's bedroom mirror.

"I can't even remember the last time I slept in a t-shirt. I never thought I would again," Marc lamented.

Cliff scoffed and wrapped his arms around his crestfallen boyfriend.

"I'm glad you've made so many sacrifices for me," he joked before dipping his head down and kissing his boyfriend on the neck.

Cliff's facial hair grazed the skin on Marc's neck, and as a shiver went down his spine and he shuddered in a gasp of air, he forgot all about wearing a t-shirt and thought that maybe shag carpet wasn't so bad after all.


End file.
